


Three Kings

by pheonixgate1



Series: Nos Gerere [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Ardyn is his own warning, But Hopefully Less Than Previously, F/M, M/M, MUST READ FIRST: Nos Gerere, Multi, Mystery and Intrigue, So Is Ravus Really, this is part 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pheonixgate1/pseuds/pheonixgate1
Summary: Noctis takes another road trip—this time with his ex-mortal enemy and current dubious ally. Between making sure the other two don’t kill each other or him and trying to keep a low profile, the trip promises to be an eventful one—but a secret sleeps in Altissa. One that sends an echo of the once mighty Empire rippling across Eos.Or: FFXV Empire Strikes Back
Relationships: Ravus Nox Fleuret/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: Nos Gerere [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635643
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not meant as a stand-alone story. This is part two of a series so, if you haven’t read the first part, you will have no overall context as to why certain people are featured and how. Nos Gerere is the first part and it’s long, but if you want any enjoyment out of this, I’d tackle that first. The three in-between stories (Three Kings: Noctis, Ardyn and Ravus) are not exactly necessary, but are referenced in here but they are one-shots and on the short side (for me, anway). And bit fluffier after all that angst.
> 
> If you'd like to experience this first chapter as it was intended, have 'Shake It Out' by Florence + the Machine qued up for the first bit. ;)

Somewhere, on the road to Cape Caem….

“I can’t believe I’m doing this, _again_.”

Next to him, Talcott grunts as he digs his shoes into the pavement.

“Doing what?.. Pushing a car?... When did you ever do _that_?”

He huffs as he explains how he, Gladio and Prompto had pushed the Regalia all the way to Hammerhead after it had run out of gas. Ignis had misjudged the distance between their last stop and the next station, which ended up being Hammerhead itself. Needless to say, it was a mistake they only made _once_.

“Come now boys, put your backs into it. At this rate, we won’t make it anywhere until well after nightfall.”

He grits his teeth at the extreme unfairness of _Ardyn_ playing the part of Ignis this time.

“Would His Majesty… care to get his _fat ass_ … out here and help us? -Ravus can steer.”

Noctis and Talcott are both down to just their shirt-sleeves but even with the ocean breeze they are panting and sweating. The Doctor cranes his head out of the window and gives him a pointed look.

“I dare you to find more than an inch of fat anywhere on my body, let alone my _posterior_.” He sniffs. “If anyone is in danger of getting soft in the middle it would be you, _O’ Tiniest King_. -Your diet is abysmal and your regimen even more so.”

He ducks back into the car, calling the rest out through the window’s opening.

“One cannot rely on the vigors of youth forever. I daresay the sweat of this endeavor will only do you good.”

Noctis plants his hands on the trunk. His bark of laughter more like a cough.

“Always the short-jokes… That the only come-back you got?... Must be going soft in the _head_.” He turns to his fellow beast of burden. “..Where’s Ravus?”

Talcott wipes the sweat from his face before looking around.

“I… don’t know…. He was supposed to be… up ahead… flagging someone down…”

Ardyn makes an amused sound from the cab and calls out: “I can see our Prince. -We could perhaps overtake him if the two of you decided to put forth some real effort. Chop, chop.”

Talcott and Noctis both roll their eyes, almost in unison.

They go back to pushing for a bit, before the Accursed makes another observation.

“I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. He’s only using his _thumb_. I can’t imagine that’s very good at getting someone’s attention, don’t you think?”

That makes the both of them pause.

“Using his _thumb_? What-”

“-He’s _hitchhiking_. That _fucker_ …” He turns to Talcott. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Ardyn squawks as the car lurches forward with greater speed than he was expecting. They ignore his cheerful ‘That’s the way!’ as they hoof it closer to where their fourth passenger is once again trying to ditch them.

They stop within shouting distance and Noctis wastes no time, calling the other out.

“Oi, what the hell Ravus?! Get your freakishly-tall ass over here and help, you bastard!”

He whips around instantly, his current task forgotten. They can hear a chuckle escape the cab.

“Oh my. That certainly got his attention.”

The blond begins to stalk over to them, face thunderous. Sore, sweaty and out of breath, Noctis is not impressed. He’s usually the one that does the placating but he’s just too pissed off at the moment.

“Um, Noct. You should probably arm yourself.”

He squints at the King’s Aide. Noctis carries a gun now that he doesn’t have an armiger. He’d prefer a sword but actually wearing one is _cancer_. Once he’s back in Insomnia, he’ll talk to Cor about getting a blade like his. Slim and elegant, it’s a better alternative to carrying the wide, flat blades he’s used to.

“-What? No. I’m not _shooting_ him, what are you even—"

Ravus is almost on him before he realizes the other has his sword drawn.

“ _What did you just call me_?!”

He dodges the swipe on instinct, stepping away from Talcott whose daggers aren’t a match for a sword wielded by the former High Commander, well-made or no.

“ _Shit._ Take it easy!”

He’s pretty sure Ravus is not seriously attacking him, because if he was, he’d have already gotten in multiple kill-shots but Noctis is barely able to keep ahead of him even so. As they awkwardly dance around the car, he can hear Ardyn laughing inside. Eventually he calls out:

“Not to worry Noct. I’ll patch you right up—it’ll be like you never died!”

*

Sometime during the scuffle, Talcott had gotten fed up and called Aranea to pick them up. Noctis wants to hug him, sweaty and gross as they both are, but he can’t move aside from his head, which lolls slightly every time there’s light turbulence.

He’s not looking forward to explaining to Ignis why the Crown has been billed a premium when they had a perfectly serviceable car at their disposal, but at this point it’s whatever. -They’re almost to Altissa anyway. Now they don’t even need a boat.

He knows that he tried to offer Ravus a direct air route to Altissa but he refused. Which is why Noctis insisted on going with him, which is why the rest of them are there. Because apparently, he still requires a sitter. And whatever the hell Ardyn is supposed to be.

Noctis doesn’t understand, especially after his outburst about instant-warping, why Ravus wouldn’t just take the airship offer but watching he and Aranea edge around each other like wary animals has given him a bit of insight. -Thankfully Ignis had taken care of telling her about them and their newly-living status. He’s pretty sure it would have gotten ugly if she had been surprised.

He feels the weight of someone’s gaze and cracks both eyes open. Ravus is staring at him from across the shuttle; his look intense but… not angry he doesn’t think.

He wonders if, after the other man is settled, they’ll ever meet again. He certainly doesn’t seem like he’d want to but Noctis still has dreams where he can hear him calling out to his father; desperate and afraid. Can hear himself pleading as well: “ _Dad! We have to go back. It’s Ravus, we have to go back!_ ”

Of Luna, impossibly small, running back through the flames of her burning city.

He wants to say something but Ardyn is next to him, close enough to hear anything even over the sound of the ship’s engine and Talcott the same distance from Ravus on the other side. Maybe he should just let the Queen’s letters speak for him. For his father. He still hasn’t given them to their rightful owner. It.. had never been the right time.

He lets out a breath and leans back. If he’s lucky he’ll be able to sleep for most of this part. Bonus if he falls asleep on the Doctor, which will be more awkward for him than it will be for Noctis. Because unconscious.

He doesn’t see the other narrow his eyes at his bared throat. Nor does he see his entourage take notice. Instead he punches Ardyn lightly a few times in the side which causes him to put down his reading and ask, with fake politeness: “Noct. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nothing. I’m fluffing you.”

That makes the older man blink at him for a second.

“Fluffing, what— _no_. We are less than an hour from our destination and I refuse to sit here and be a receptacle for your _drool_. Fall asleep on me and the consequences will be _dire_.”

Ignoring the warning, he scoots a bit closer to the older man and hunkers down. They are basically crammed into the tiniest shuttle he’s ever seen, likely due to the fact that Talcott had called Aranea ‘auntie’ where the rest of them could hear. -Ravus’ startled chuff of laughter has so far been the highlight of his day.

“For a healer, you’re pretty squeamish about body fluids. -How is chocobo shit ok, but drool isn’t?”

The other man huffs.

“Because it’s _yours_. I’m warning you, Noct… You will not like what I do if I end up damp.”

He makes an amused sigh as he relaxes back into his previous position. The man beside him is talking a good game but also hasn’t tried to move away, despite having the room to do so.

“Yeah, yeah. -Why don’t you tell me a funny story? You know, to keep me awake.”

Ardyn hums in consideration.

“How about the one where I pushed you off the bench onto the floor? -Will that serve?”

He snickers before forming his face into a pout.

“You’re so _mean_. -Fine, go back to whatever boring crap you’re reading. I’ll take my chances.”

Noctis hears, rather than sees the other man pick up his periodical, presumably to do just that.

“As his Majesty commands. -May you stay ever wakeful, for your own sake.”

His huff of amusement is the last sound for a while, save for the occasional flipping of pages and the ever-present hum of the craft’s engines. He manages a doze, but never quite makes it into a full nap, despite the day’s exertions.

Hilariously, Talcott ends up nodding off against Ravus; much to the younger man’s horror when the bump of their landing finally wakes him up. The former Commander rolls his eyes at his sputtered apologies before stalking off the ramp, into the bright afternoon sun.

Noctis makes a show of swiping at the Doctors shoulder and rubbing his fingers together.

“Would you look at that. All those threats, for nothing. Bet you feel sad.”

The other man scoffs before tucking his reading under his arm and getting up to follow. Talcott is stretching the stiffness out of his limbs and thus can do little but yelp as Ardyn suddenly turns and shoves Noctis off the bench before casually strolling down the ramp himself. The Aide immediately bends down to help him.

“So I’m pretty sure you had that coming. -Is there a reason you keep antagonizing them? I mean, less than two hours ago Ravus was coming at you with a _sword_. Are you some kind of fear junkie now?”

He takes the proffered arm and grunts as Talcott pulls him up.

“That would require the fear part, which I don’t have. -You want to wrangle those two? Because I am so ready to pass the torch on that one.”

Talcott drops his arm like it scalded him.

“Not it! -Ah ha haaaa— _no_. No way. I’m good, thanks.”

Noctis makes a show of straightening his clothes, which have become stiff with dried sweat. _Gross_.

“Well then don’t question my methods, _scrub_. -Let’s get out of here before ‘auntie’ gives us the boot.”

The sudden crackle of the intercom overhead makes them both duck in startlement.

_“Call me auntie again, you little twerp. -Get the hell off my boat before I give you a boot up the ass.”_

That’s sufficient motivation for them to both scurry down the ramp but not before Noctis calls out:

“Thanks for the lift, auntie!”

Aranea must gun the engines hard because the tiny ship leaps into the air almost as soon as their feet hit the ground. It wobbles a bit before evening out, the ramp and door closing but not before the intercom blares again.

_“You’re lucky this thing isn’t armed, you shit.”_

Then the craft is gone, and Noctis is standing amidst what would normally be the standard turn out for _him_ but is actually for Ravus—who is still a Prince. Next to him, Talcott gives him a disbelieving glare.

“Dude…”

He shrugs. Weskham, who has scraped together a respectable reception in the scant few hours of getting Talcott’s call, gives him an amused look before turning his attention back to the returning Prince. Noctis walks over to Ardyn, who is wearing his default placid smile, glamour firmly in place. The three of them cluster together, off to the side while Ravus receives the honors that were once stripped from him by the very invaders he chose to serve.

He knows it’s a small, insignificant thing next to the fact that his family and ancestral home are both gone forever. But as he bends slightly to accept the crown Weskham has brought, Noctis thinks this might just be enough.

There is a smattering of applause once he straightens, which he heartily adds to. It’s not an official ceremony; that will probably be had later once they settle on something they can tell the public, but he is glad enough to be witness to it.

It takes a nudge from Talcott as they follow the small procession to realize he’s grinning like an idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravus remembers and Noctis gets an upgrade. XD

_The halls of Fenestala Manor are quiet, but it’s a silence born of tranquility more than lack of activity._

_He treads lightly, not wanting to disturb the serenity with his footfalls. Training with the soldiers of Niflheim was its own kind of Hell; one of filth and degradation and backstabbing. Clawing his way though the ranks was no easy task, but the relentless burning in his heart gave him everything he needed. Strength when other men would fold._

_He had been sneered at in the beginning. Accused of being soft because of his royalty. His detractors eventually learned their lesson; sometimes in painful but necessary ways._

_Ravus cannot say that he serves with pride, because he isn’t proud of what he does but there is a certain satisfaction in bringing such vengeful, baying dogs to heel. Dark satisfaction perhaps, but he’ll take what victories he can; however small._

_In truth, these excursions back to Altissa have become more awkward than comforting. Each trip only serves to remind him how far removed he is from the idealistic young man who grew up in these halls. Who believed in goodness and justice considered himself their steward. -He is a stranger now. That person. Like a distant relative who died long ago._

_What a fool._

_His sister does not greet him. -Not because she does not care, for even the distance that grows between them is no match for her optimism, but because he has sent no word of his arrival. He needs time to unwind, to decompress._

_Also to shower. He wears his uniform like a second skin, but beneath it he is perpetually limned with sweat. He shows no indication of his discomfort in front of his so-called peers but here he is free to express his disgust._

_As he passes one of the many small tables lining the hall, he spots a familiar white book. It looks like Lunafreya’s diary, but he is suspicious as to why would it be out here where anyone could lay hands on it._

_To solve the mystery, he picks up the book and flips to a random page. He frowns when what he finds within is not his sister’s handwriting, at least not at first._

_‘Hey Luna. I know it’s been a while but I just wanted to see how you were doing…’_

_He reads the whole entry, which is just painfully banal chatter with no signature. When he turns the page however, he sees his sister’s reply and the name of the one whom had written the previous entry._ Noctis _. This makes him scowl._

_While he cannot deny his sister her small comforts, he certainly doesn’t approve of her continued connection to the Coward and his get. He skims a few of the more recent entries. Noctis is well into his teens now, and has grown into a stunning young man. If he finds that the whelp has been entertaining the notion of courting his sister, no Wall or Glaive will keep him from Ravus’ blade._

_But there is no such indication. Noctis speaks plainly to his ‘Luna’ and she replies in kind. Their banter is well-worn and familiar but nothing inappropriate catches his eye. He breathes a small sigh of relief._

_This relief is short-lived as he suddenly finds himself on the ground, the side of his face throbbing. There is a small ‘yip’ and the scrabble of nails against the floor and he is promptly accosted by an excited Pryna, who does her best to smother him with her tongue._

_Once he subdues the squirming dog, he sees Lunafreya standing over him. Her own scowl in place._

_He rubs the side of his face. That was no open-handed slap. His sister had just punched him hard enough to knock him on his ass. Under different circumstances, he would have been inordinately pleased._

_“Greetings, sister.”_

_Unfortunately, Lunafreya is having none of that. Her soft face twists into a sneer as he rises, Pryna still wriggling in his arms; accosting his chin._

_“Greetings,_ my ass _. -What were you doing reading my diary?” She stoops to pick up the book which had been forgotten in his attempt to break his own fall. “I don’t go through your things, Ravus. I expect the same courtesy.”_

_While that is perfectly reasonable, he feels justified in pointing out:_

_“It was sitting out here in the hallway. It’s not like I went snooping into your rooms to get it. Is there a reason you left your… private correspondence out where anyone could read it?”_

_He notices her glance down at Umbra who is sitting beside her. He twitches an ear in her direction._

_“Because it’s my house?” She puts a hand to her brow and sighs. “-I’m going to let this go for now, because I’m happy to see you, but if I catch you invading my privacy again…”_

_He answers for her, finally releasing Pryna who is really much too large for Ravus to be carrying, though she seems to be enjoying herself._

_“I get the smite.”_

_His sister smiles in a way that would mean trouble if they were sparring._

_“You get the smite.”_

*

He blinks up at the ceiling.

After waking up to a different room nearly every day for so long, it takes a few beats for him to recognize his surroundings. While Fenestala might have been razed to the ground, his family had other holdings and slowly he realizes he’s in one of them; a small, well-appointed chateau within walking distance of the ocean.

His family had taken several holidays in this house when he and Lunafreya were small. It is here he had one of the last memories his father, laughing and radiant before he’d been taken from them by the same regime that had taken everything else.

He props himself up on his elbows and squints at a familiar set of dark ears at the foot of the bed.

As he sits up a bit higher, he sees Umbra sitting almost obediently; like he’s been waiting for him to wake. The dream he’d had of the incident with his sister’s diary is nearly gone but it is an ill-omen that one of the creatures featured in it now sits before him.

“I have no use for you. -Begone.”

The ears swivel to the sound of his voice before the Messenger jumps on the bed with him. Ravus tenses. Pryna and Umbra had pretty much always behaved as dogs—pets really, ever since he can remember. But there is no mission from the gods to carry out. The prophecy has come to pass; the Oracles, no more. He can’t imagine what further business this divine herald would have with him.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Umbra lays down; settling on the duvet with a huff. On his back, tucked beneath a hidden strap, is a familiar white book.

Still wary, Ravus moves his hand slowly so that his intent is clear; carefully sliding the book away. Freed from his awkward burden, Umbra rolls onto his side with a noise of content—stretching out his full-length.

Holding the book in his hand after having just dreamt of it is a bit surreal, and entirely too much to contemplate this early in the morning. His still-tingling face and jaw is a reminder of his sister’s threat. He harbors no doubts that she would make good on it—even from the beyond.

He sets it on the bedside table. He has no desire to read whatever drivel his sister and Noctis wrote to each other anyway. He lays back again with a sigh; glancing at Umbra, who is doing his canine best to take up an entire side of the bed. Thinking he perhaps has the right idea, Ravus settles into the blankets—not yet ready to face the day.

It’s futile of course. He doesn’t actually go back to sleep, but it feels immensely luxurious to doze far past the time he would normally rise; having no pressing need to be up and moving at such an ungodly hour.

It is muted clanging from the kitchen that finally rouses him.

He slips a robe on over his sleep-pants and pads into the kitchen where a familiar dark head in what appears to be… a cat-ear head band is making a commotion that may or may not be breakfast related. He has a phone tucked into his shoulder and is attempting to talk over his own noise, which is just adding to the cacophony.

“I need quick and dirty sushi rice. -Yeah I know what time it is. Too early to be worrying about Court shit. Anyway, I can get the rice but I don’t know if there’s any rice wine vinegar. -I mean this place is full of actual wine but I’m not about to go digging around without asking Ravus first—”

“—A wise decision.” He says, reaching for the tepid coffee and frowning at it.

Noctis starts, having not heard him over his own clamour.

“Ok, so I just heard that in stereo.” He notices Ravus’ contemplation of the coffee he’s just poured. “Um, Ardyn made that like… ages ago before he left this morning so it’s probably pretty gross. -I can make some fresh though, just give me a minute.”

It takes a not-insignificant amount of self-control not to let the mug simply fall from his hands and shatter on the floor; he’d almost drank something the Accursed _made_. Gross doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Noctis goes back to nattering at what must be his former Advisor—now King of Lucis; dumping the pot and rinsing it out. He resists the urge to tell the other to use salt, which by Tenebraen custom is harvested from the sea and blessed by a Hydraean Devout. He knows it’s futile. No amount of blessing will remove his perceived taint of everything the man has touched. He’s learned to live with it, mostly by promising himself that it’s temporary, though it still rankles. Badly.

So far, the he and the Kingslayer had been keeping each other at a distance simply by moving at different hours. It’s enough of an insult that the man is currently in residence, along with the rest of his Lucian entourage. However, Acting First Secretary Armaugh’s displeasure had been so severe when he’d expressed his intention of giving the three of them the proverbial boot (and in the Accursed’s case, the _actual_ boot) that he’d relented, not wanting to disappoint the man who had painstakingly begun recovery of his home, nearly on his own.

And so, here they are.

The King’s Aide is the least obtrusive, being that he is gone for most of the daylight hours; using his quarters exclusively for sleep. He has been in close contact with the First Secretary; using his own extensive list of contacts to further aid the rebuilding of what was once a land of splendor. Of the three of them, Talcott’s actions in his country garner the most approval and so he does not mind his presence so much, brief as it often is.

Noctis, on the other hand, is… an oddity. For one, he can actually _cook_. Apparently, all that time spent under Scientia’s care was not totally wasted. When asked why he hadn’t shown the proclivity until now, he’d explained there was no point in cooking for himself when someone of Ignis’ caliber was there to do it for him. -So, laziness. No surprises there.

He mostly keeps to the house, unless Talcott or Weskham has a pressing need of him. Ravus isn’t exactly sure what he does during that time; sleeping, he assumes, but the former Commander will return from a day of back-breaking work to a freshly made bed and clean linens laid out in both his and the guest bathrooms. He finds it strange that the other is such a homebody, but it might be more of lack of knowledge of what to do with himself than an actual desire for domestic chores.

As if to illuminate this, Noctis promptly sets a fresh cup of coffee down in front of him before resuming his wheedling of the King.

He takes a careful drink and lets the bitter, earthy taste ground him.

Then there is the Accursed. Ardyn Lucis Caelum or as most know him now; Richter Mirin, M.D. If you had tried to tell him that he would end up on the fringes of his ruined country, staying in the same house with the one who had brought about that ruin along with the one he’d wrought it _for_ , depending on the time of his life he was told well… There would definitely be laugher, but there might also be the bite of his blade to go with it.

The so-called ‘Doctor’ keeps himself busy with medical related tasks centered around the relief effort. Whether it’s treating the trickle of refugees finding their way back home, or healing those injured in accidents connected to the rebuilding; the Accursed’s talents have already begun to earn him accolades—even from Weskham, who knows the man’s true identity.

That perhaps, rankles the _most_ but it’s his own fault for staunchly refusing to assist the others in returning to Lucis. He’d thought to extract a measure of free labor from the three as ‘payment’ for their repatriation, not thinking he’d be saddled with them in the interim.

He narrows his eyes at what he realizes was a master play by the First Secretary. He makes a mental note to never underestimate the man again.

Ravus is interrupted from his musings by a short bark, followed almost immediately by a gleeful shout. Umbra has padded into the kitchen, to Noctis’ obvious delight.

“Hey buddy! Long time no see!”

The normally stoic Messenger allows the younger man to give him a rigorous scratching, his tail wagging almost absurdly. After indulging himself, he walks over to where Ravus is sitting and seats himself next to his feet; cocking his head at him inquisitively.

“Don’t look at me. Your Favorite is the food-giver. -Though why you think you need to eat is entirely a mystery.”

At the counter, Noctis makes a pleased noise as he prepares toast.

“Awww. I’m his favorite? -I mean, obviously he’s the bestest boy so it goes without saying that he’d also have the best _taste_ , but it’s nice to have confirmation.”

_From you_ , he hears; though the other says nothing of the sort.

Ravus does not grace that with a response; instead taking a deeper draught of his coffee. Noctis, having hung up with the King sometime when he wasn’t looking, spreads a simple egg salad (which is mostly just mashed up boiled eggs) on Ravus’ toast and sets a bowl of cut fruit down. He makes a plate of scrambled eggs for the Messenger, then pours an unhealthy amount of syrup into his own oatmeal before sitting down at the table; adding some incidental fruit at his pointed stare.

The silence as they tuck in to their respective breakfasts is comfortable, if short-lived.

“So, um. What are your plans for the day? Anything I can help with out there?”

Ravus thinks about that as he chews.

“I always coordinate with the First Secretary when I arrive on site. There are some large projects that need constant attention but for the most part, I tend to take care of smaller, irregular ones. -It’s something different each day, so I never really know until I get there.”

He looks at Noctis, who is still looking at him expectantly.

“You could… assist me. -I know you prefer your duties here, but I’m sure we can find something for you to do today that is within your capacity.”

At this, his expectant look slides into a frown.

“Um, I don’t _prefer_ doing house stuff. Its just all I can do at the moment, unless it’s a big project with a lot of people that I can hide in.”

This makes him pause.

“ _Hide in_? What do you mean? Why would you need to…”

He trails off as comprehension dawns. While Ravus’ own disappearance and reappearance can be more or less explained (if not entirely truthfully), the wide-spread knowledge of the Prophecy makes explaining Noctis’ return a bit more… complicated.

Noctis swirls a berry around in his oatmeal almost churlishly.

“Yeah. - _That_.”

A few more beats of silence pass as they both regroup. Noctis is first to recover.

“I’m thinking of growing my hair out. It’s already getting there, and considering I only really trust one person with my head and he’s busy all the time now, it’s just as well. That will help a little. –I mean, I’d look totally different, right?”

Ravus gives the younger man’s dark crown more than its usual passing glance. The fringe is a bit shaggier than normal, hence the need for a hairband, but some length will straighten the whisps out of it. He tries to imagine that face framed by a curtain of night; clean angles softened by its shadow.

He takes a deep drink of coffee to banish the image from his mind before it can do real damage.

“It will certainly play a factor, but as to how much? I suppose you’ll have to wait and see for yourself.”

He doesn’t bother mentioning that the man will hopefully be back in his own country well before that particular issue is solved. And with good riddance, though the thought doesn’t carry as much satisfaction as it would have once upon a time.

*

Ardyn straightens from behind where he is wedged between wall and machine; wiping a light film of sweat from his brow.

Altissa, though the long-time home of the Oracles and their legacy of healing, boasted major hospitals on par if not better than the ones found in Insomnia. And while thankfully not held together as slap-dash as the ones in Lestallum, ten years of disuse had taken their toll on the once state-of-the-art facilities.

“Cerise, you are a _treasure_. -Hold on.” He nods to the young man that has been tasked with assisting him, and he obligingly flips a switch; the machine humming to life.

“Everything looks good. Display is showing the boot screen. Once it’s done, we can see how operational it is.”

He inclines his head at the proclamation. Naturally, Ardyn has very little practical knowledge on how these machines actually work. This particular one is an internal imaging machine; one that can scan through the body and map its contents, good or bad. Thankfully one of his team back in Insomnia is an engineer by trade. Her general knowledge of machinery has proven invaluable in recovering resources such as this.

He speaks into the phone at his ear.

“Did you hear that, my dear? You’ve saved the day once again. Remind me when I return to ask the King pay you an actual _wage_.”

He mostly ignores her stammered reply as he extricates himself. After dispensing with more meaningless pleasantries, he finally hangs up. His assigned aide, who has a bit more experience with modern machines, busies himself with task at hand and waves him off when he asks if there is anything else he can help with.

Having nothing else to do at present, he wanders off to where they are providing refreshments and grabs a bottle of water. Presses the coolness against his flushed skin.

Having needs of the body is still something he’s getting used to. For so long he knew not hunger or thirst; nor sweat or chill. The disease had swept all of that away in a haze of constant pain.

Nowadays he has to eat, bathe, _excrete_. Very tedious after going so long without. He could probably still survive without doing either, assuming the Infernian does indeed hold the keys to his mortality, but that would unfortunately not assuage his hunger or thirst and he’s had his fill of suffering. Thus he chooses to not to.

He wanders the hospital a bit, it’s reclamation a careful process but proceeding apace due to the facilities being sorely needed. It certainly keeps him busy and more importantly away from the quarters he shares with boy, the King and the Prince.

He’s still not entirely sure how that’s all working but it likely has something to do with the fact that former High Commander doesn’t quite hate the King of Light as much as he would probably like. Just the opposite, in fact. He and Talcott have both noticed, but Noctis seems to still be blissfully unaware.

He’s been keeping a weather eye on that. For all that he is a man of the modern world, Noctis is astonishingly naïve about certain aspects of it. Naïve and too forgiving by _half_. Small wonder it took said world being brought to the very brink; for Ardyn alone to shoulder the burden of his anguish for Noctis to have the wherewithal to strike him down. A shred of sympathy for his plight and the whole thing would have unraveled.

For all the good it did. Though their mutual sacrifices banished the worst of the Scourge, Daemons still roam the earth; albeit in far lesser numbers. This is an ill omen that the disease is in remission—not cured.

It is this reason why Ardyn has thrown himself in the arms of modern medicine. To stop this wretched cycle before it can begin anew. Surely that’s the real reason he’s here and not beyond the pale with a good deal of people who have been waiting for him. For a very, very long time.

During their odd, eye-opening conversation the night Noctis returned to the Citadel, he’d cautiously asked if his brother was one of those waiting. Noctis had answered without preamble that he was indeed, and had added the aside that he was also an ‘ugly-crier.’

He’s not sure he wants to know the circumstances behind that knowledge; amusing as it is.

There’s another who waits that he’s very keen on being reunited with. However, he’s aware that the Infernian has not just restored him but essentially bestowed upon him the title of Messenger—his taunt at Angelgard and the Draconian’s casual mention of it are proof enough. It’s probably just as well that some more time passes between now and their reunion. Though he knows the Aera who tortured him over and over was just a vision, possibly even a fever-dream of his own madness, he’s quite certain she is probably a bit angry at him. Possibly more than a bit.

He’ll take that over disappointment, which she likely feels as well, but he figures he can’t stoop any lower at this point. Why not enable their inevitable reconciliation by heroically curing Eos of the Starscourge, permanently? Surely that will allow him the tiniest spark of approval after everything else he’s done (or in some cases, simply allowed to happen).

Something to look forward to, assuming he can see the deed through.

Taking his leave of the Hospital proper, he makes his way outside. It is a glorious day, warm with a light breeze and he takes a moment to soak it in. He notices that there seems to be preparations going on for some kind of festivities. Colorful pennants and ribbons are being hung; their jewel tones offset by the white stucco that the city prefers.

There’s no lack of workers in the area, so he takes one aside to ask about the occasion.

“Excuse me, but could you tell me what all these decorations are for? I’m new to the area and I’m not familiar with the local customs.”

The man is happy to explain. It seems the adornments are for Carnivale; a time-honored celebration among the islands of Accordo. Though much of the country has yet to be reclaimed, First Secretary Armaugh has decreed that the festivities are to commence. After nearly two straight years of constant work, the fete will be a welcome respite.

He thanks the man for his information, who returns to his work with a wave. Ardyn turns to see to his own work when his pocket chimes. After some light fumbling, he extricates his phone to see that his erstwhile assistant has sent him a message. It seems the younger man has things well in hand and as there’s no emergencies or pressing need for his skills, he is free for the afternoon.

With the many projects currently underway, he could, in theory, find _something_ to do but manual labor has never been his forte. Besides, after basically being put to work since arriving in the country, he figures he’s earned a break. -Unfortunately, has no idea what to do with his sudden surplus of free time.

Perhaps he’ll look in on Noct and have a nap.

-Oh yes. That sounds lovely.

*

When Talcott returns from yet another day of Networking in the nightmare that is the current governing system of Accordo, he does it to the sound of arguing.

“-consider the time in which I once lived the _Dark Ages_ , but we at the very least mastered the technique of not consuming raw or undercooked meat. -I don’t care if it’s considered a modern delicacy; its _raw fish—”_

Noctis is exhibiting his usual total lack of fear, even though Ardyn is almost to the point of yelling. Considering the man almost never raises his voice unless he’s trying to be heard over something, when he’s genuinely angry its _terrifying_.

“Delicacy? People eat this _all the time_. Just because it squicks you doesn’t mean it’s not a valid food choice. You’re two-thousand years old, but you’re turning up your nose at something you’ve never even tried before like a huge _man-baby_ —"

He winces. This.. might get bad. He considers slinking out the way he came but there’s nowhere to go except back to work and he’s _tired,_ goddamn it.

“Oh that’s rich coming from _you_ —doted on by a master chef and yet you still refuse to eat your vegetables like the _spoiled brat_ you are—"

He decides to nip this in the bud before it can get out of hand.

“OK, ENOUGH!”

Both of them turn; Noctis mostly startled and Ardyn simmering with irritation. Thankfully Talcott is very low on the ancient man’s radar so he at least attempts to remain civil, though it’s obvious Noctis has greatly stoked his ire.

“Alright, so—Noct. I’ll have sushi; that’s what you made, right?” He waits for the muttered ‘yeah’ before looking to the other man. “And for you, well… I’m pretty sure between the two of us we can whip something up as long as you don’t mind waiting a bit. -Is that ok?”

Noctis crosses his arms over his chest churlishly at the prospect of making more food, but plays along for Talcott’s sake. Ardyn considers them for a moment.

“My intent was to have a bath and then possibly a nap. Feel free to make whatever you like in the interim, but if it’s raw, I won’t eat it. –Unless it’s a salad of course.”

He doesn’t look too enthused by the prospect of a salad but Talcott figures that’s as good a concession they’re going to get. Noct’s frown has turned into a scowl at this point but he doesn’t engage as Ardyn sweeps off to his room. Talcott sighs.

“Look, it’s just old-man fear of salmonella. Grandpa was the same way—so was Clarus come to think of it. -Wouldn’t eat any of the fancy stuff—except for once, on a dare from your dad.”

Gladio was fond of that story—proof that his father and the King could be jackasses like the rest of them. He vaguely remembers hearing Clarus being violently sick in the downstairs bathroom and asking his Grandfather if he was going to be ok. He’d just chuckled and assured him it was fine.

Noctis looks a little less standoffish after the trip down memory lane, but Talcott can tell he’s still not quite over it.

“Yeah. Or maybe its just me. -He never had a food issue before. I mean, who gets that upset over _sushi_?”

They talk it out while they toss ideas back and forth. Ardyn singles out Noctis for a lot of his minor grievances, but it’s mostly for show. Talcott knows that if the older man truly disliked him, he’d do the same thing he does to Ravus and simply avoid being in the other’s company whenever possible. Considering they’re together enough to bicker _constantly_ , this is obviously not the case.

In the end they decide not to waste Noct’s efforts and make tempura rolls; thus fulfilling the cooking requirement and still utilizing the fresh fish Noctis spent the afternoon catching.

“You know, you’re just spoiled because Ravus and I eat whatever you put in front of us.”

Ravus especially. He eats everything like its ration bars. Like the taste is second to getting the nutrients into his body as quickly as possible. How the man stays almost rail thin is beyond him. Noct could literally serve him a stick of butter and he’d probably eat it—though that might also be due to… extenuating circumstances.

Keeping an eye on that. Yeah.

“Whatever. -Did I tell you I’m growing my hair out?” Noctis tosses his head like it’s already long, and the younger man can’t help but snicker at the flash of bling from the headband he’s wearing. This does not go unnoticed.

“Laugh it up, jerk. -See if I ever ask you for anything again.”

Noctis grouses now but he’d only given him a snort and a raised eyebrow when he’d been handed the white plastic headband, obviously meant for girls. Talcott doesn’t have any issues about procuring things when asked, but you get what you get if you don’t give specifics.

“Awwww. Don’t be like that Nyactis.”

This earns him an incredulous laugh; the dark mood finally broken.

They finish up with the cooking; Noctis doing most of the work. His sushi is actually really good due to his time working at Nakamura’s—a swanky, upscale seafood restaurant in Insomnia. It had made headlines (and long-lines to get in) but Mr. Nakamura, the owner, hadn’t cut the Prince any slack. He served nothing that was not made to the restaurant’s high standards and it showed in the neat, perfect pieces Noctis was plating.

Not ones to stand on ceremony, they eat at the counter where Noctis made everything—both talking animatedly even though Talcott had been nearly brain-dead when he’d first arrived. They chat long enough for Ardyn to reemerge, covering a yawn; in much better spirits than when he left.

He happens to hear them talking about all the things Noctis will be able to do once his ‘disguise’ is complete. This naturally sparks his curiosity. Noct explains his plan, mourning the time it will take.

“Well, I might be able to help you with that if you promise not to try to pass off raw meat to me again.”

At this, King of Light rolls his eyes. Ardyn examines the food laid out with suspicion but as it has obviously been fried to golden perfection, he can offer little argument. He pops a piece into his mouth; chewing carefully. He hums with pleasure once it’s down.

“This is extraordinary, Noct. I’m sure the King would be pleased to know all his efforts were not in vain.”

They mill around, waiting for Ardyn to finish (who is obnoxiously savoring every bite). Talcott is not at all embarrassed by his fascination at the other man’s skill with magic and has no intention of letting it go unsupervised. -Not because he’s actually worried, but because he just wants to _see_.

When he’s finally done, and given yet more back-handed praise, he has Noctis sit on the floor between his knees as he sits on the sofa. He warns him that he’ll have his hands on his head, specifically his scalp to which the other acknowledges with a shrug.

He plucks off the cat-ear headband and begins to run his hands from Noct’s forehead to the back of his nape. The effect is not immediate but it eventually becomes apparent that whatever magic he’s employing is accelerating the growth of the dark strands. It isn’t long before Noct’s hair is at his shoulders, at which point Ardyn pauses.

“Is this long enough, or closer to mine in length?”

Noctis thinks it over, requesting to see the results so far. Talcott snaps a pic with his phone, since he’s not sure if there’s a hand mirror around and if there was it’d likely be in the Queen’s rooms. Which are off-limits for obvious reasons.

“Hmmm. Longer, I think. -It just looks kind of awkward right now.”

The other man obliges and resumes his attentions. Talcott, having gotten over the novelty of it, decides to mention: “So I can’t help but notice that this is totally impractical magic. -There’s got to be a story behind this. C’mon, give.”

Ardyn doesn’t respond immediately and Talcott thinks that maybe he’s overstepped until he begins to speak. Slowly, haltingly he begins to tell a tale. A tale of he and the first Oracle. Of a magical blunder that had left both of them badly singed with a large portion of their hair burned away. Talcott winces despite the story being amusing. He can almost hear the indignant female squeal that had been a precursor to Ardyn staring down the business end of her trident.

Noctis huffs with laughter upon hearing that she’d chased him down (because of course he ran) and demanded he undo what his magic had wrought—then hisses as the man in question tugs a bit too hard on his now much-longer hair. Probably intentionally, if his innocent look is anything to go by.

This is how Ravus finds them, clustered in the living room and talking about various hair disasters as Noctis admires his new-found length. He thinks it must be comical how they all freeze when he appears, but beyond squinting at Noctis he doesn’t engage. After his pause, he makes his way past them to what Talcott assumes is his own quarters.

Out of all them, he puts forth the most physical effort and his exhaustion must be severe to meet their tete-a-tete with nothing more than mildly judgmental silence.

The cozy moment broken, Noctis rises from the floor.

“I better go make sure he eats something.” He flicks his hair over his shoulder; still getting used to the weight. He glances over to Ardyn. “Thanks for this, by the way. -It’s um. It’s really going to help me out.”

The Accursed merely nods at the praise.

“You’re welcome Noct. -However, I wonder if you’ll feel the same once you’re putting in the same hours as the rest of us.” He rises from the sofa with a grunt. “In any case, I believe I will retire for the evening. Knock if you need anything; I won’t be in bed for a few hours more.”

Noctis huffs at the barely-veiled insult but bids him goodnight, as does Talcott. With nothing more to distract him from the weight of the day, his own lethargy returns. He excuses himself for the night as well, leaving Noctis to his dinner tray which will probably be a hard sell to a passed out Ravus.

As he makes his way to his own rooms, he thinks he sees a hint of furry tail disappearing into the cracked door of Ravus’ suite but ends up dismissing it as his tired eyes playing tricks. -He’s not about to go check, that’s for sure.

He barely makes it into his pajamas before flopping onto his bed and doing some passing out of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the dogs: honestly when I first started the game I assumed Pryna was a real dog and Umbra was the messenger (because of the puppy incident in Brotherhood). However it turns out they both are. *Shrugs* They were too cute not to put in this story.


End file.
